Zen in my backyard

Last night's sky.

A Rock, A River, A Tree

I work in a law office of 50 people and in the same week, we had a birth, a funeral and a wedding. I took photographs to commemorate two of those events (links above) and maybe because of that, last week felt more important and more tangible to me.

For our office manager, ordering flowers to send to these respective events, it probably seemed just like any other week. All offices are filled with the details of our personal lives that can interfere with efficiency.

Last week was just an intersection.

But for me, last week, I witnessed a lifespan unfold in what seemed like a few moments -- thrilling and scary, solemn and beautiful, all at the same time. The human condition in fast forward.

The thing about photography and writing, I suppose, is that part of its primary purpose is to witness and testify, both of which are terms of art (no pun intended) that surround my legal practice, and frequently come up at church. I didn't realize they pervade my hobbies as well.

When I look through my camera's viewfinder, I am searching for that which I can empathize, what I would be feeling if I were the subject, what I would want to see if were in the frame, to find myself in the subject's experience. For me, an image should be relevant to the person in it. But there's that legal standard creeping in again. Evidence only comes into play if it is first relevant.

I'm sure someone else has put this much more articulately, but what I love about photography, writing and representing people is the feeling of connectedness with other people and in turn the world, finding universality in the details of our lives, and helping people tell their stories, testify. Birth, love, death, ache, joy, desperation, comfort. Maya Angelou's words on this topic have driven my career and motivated me since I first read them when I was seventeen, "...that beneath the skin, beyond the differing features and into the true heart of being, fundamentally, we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike."

I think I needed to be reminded of that. In the days after 9/11, or the tsunami, or hurricane Katrina, we didn't have to be reminded of how that is all that matters: birth, love and the inevitability of death. It was right there on the tip of all of our tongues. People got married, had babies, quit jobs and made big decisions realizing the importance of carpe diem.

The morning of 9/11, my parents flew over the twin towers just a few hours before the fell. I lived across the country from them and the rest of my family. I stared a the TV, like everyone else, horrified. So many people were carrying photographs of missing loved ones. The photos were testimonies to their love, desperation, and inevitable loss. What I most remember about that day was the photos people held of their wedding days, of their brides or grooms, of their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, co-workers. Our connectedness never felt more real.

That afternoon, I went to Kroger to stockpile baking supplies because that's what you do when the world is ending and you are Southern. My boyfriend (now husband) realized he had forgotten the Kroger Plus card (a must for students) and went home to get it, leaving me in the frozen foods section holding a bag of chicken breasts. I was in the exact same spot when he returned, lost in thought about how I wanted to make sure he would be able to find me, unlike the wandering people on TV, and how maybe the world wouldn't collapse if I made something warm that my Grandmother Viola once taught me to make when she was alive and we were together in the safety of her sunlit kitchen.

Feeling what these three families are going through --birth, death, marriage of two families-- was such a gift to me and brought me closer to my own feelings of the fragility and raw beauty of life, even in it's cruelties.

But this morning, as Maya writes, "on the pulse of this new day," I went back into the office, stepped into the elevator and, "looked into my sister's eyes, into my brother's face, my country and said, very simply with hope, Good Morning."

Because it's summer

Let's go to the Farmer's Market, listen to Pink Martini, eat some double chocolate chip Graeter's ice cream and not read the nutritional information. Why not.

Mail your favorite summer camper something with color, like these cards from Ink & Paper.



I found these (no kidding) scratch-n-sniff cards at the quirky Fred Flare.


Find a different-kind-of-read at Bas Bleu where their team has already made great book lists for every kind of reader and they have sweet little illustrations for the categories, like this:


To date, my favorite summer reads remain:
A Good House by Bonnie Burnard which may be out of print. Email me, you can have my copy.
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
Interpreter of Maladies by Jumpha Lahiri
2 of the 3 of those were the author's first novel. Inspiring!

Where Have You Gone Carrie Tuhy?

Paul Simon was on Charlie Rose this week --I know, I'm officially 200 years old. Not only am I watching Charlie Rose, but my other media go-to shows are on NPR. Oldsville-- and he said that our society is too focussed on the "empty calories" of celebrity culture. I am certainly guilty of consuming the empty calories of Pop Sugar, People, Hello!, etc., and of enjoying every cotton-candy bite. My challenge lately has been finding things that aren't empty calories.

My legal ethics professor used to say that all human beings are mimetic. I was dismissive of that idea at first. I'm an original, right? I don't imitate people. But, when it comes down to it, I'm always looking for role models, professional mentors, people who are living positive lives and balancing responsibilities. I'm watching this play out with my daughter right now as she is picking and choosing what things she wants to emulate from the various influences in her life. I'm starting to think that our obsession with celebrities is more of that pursuit: for role models of success.

As a type A personality, semi-OCD, compulsive organizer who loves magazines, the launch of Real Simple Magazine was very exciting to me. I was a charter subscriber and read every issue cover to cover. Those were the days when they ran articles on actual families who had found ways to live simpler, quieter, less chaotic, organized lives! It was the I Ching of organizing and time management filled with ideas for creating zen in your home and office. For me, there were role models in the articles. People who were living life in a positive, simple way. Where can I find that now? Now, Real Simple is filled with 3 page comparisons on different kinds of ketchup. Boo! What is this, Consumer Reports? A Pepsi Challenge? I've tried to find comfort in the pages of others: Domino? Blueprint? Martha? In the words of George Costanza, NO. NO. NO. They are lovely, but Pixie Sticks nonetheless.

I'm thrilled that Victoria is coming back in December, but that's not going to fill my need for somebody to give me tips on how to (absent amphetamines) find time to organize my day planner, car, office and kitchen drawer while packing a nutritious creative lunch, planning a relaxing family outing/neighborhood picnic with time to spare to evaluate storage solutions for my imaginary farmhouse.

In those golden years when Real Simple began, Carrie Tuhy was Managing Editor and her essays at the beginning of each issue were always worthy of tearing out and keeping in a journal. Her piece after 9/11 was more poignant than anything else I've read on the topic. The magazine ran stories then about large families and how to keep schedules for them, streamlining at work, groups of girlfriends re-uniting for simple dinner or getaway, finding ways to bring a neighborhood together, adding time to your day by organizing obligations, running a restaurant with friends, coping with loss in a proactive way. Stick-to-your-bones journalism. Now, there is Heinz v. Hunts. Seriously.

A New York Times article said Ms. Tuhy was replaced as editor because she had "management problems." Whatever these alleged problems were, I don't care. She's human. What was inspiring to me was that she had vision and could find stories of people who are trying to make it work and who were willing to share what was working for them. I don't need my role models to be perfect, just willing to share in a meaningful conversation.

C'est Si Bon: Paris, Je T'aime

After two years of Johnson & Johnson, Graco and Pampers, it's hard to remember that before Elmo, my first date with my husband was on the left bank in Paris. Having a child has been a great love affair as well. But it's hard to carve out emotional space and time that is just for the two of us when our hearts are so full of our little girl.

Paris, Je T'aime reminded me of my first introduction to the love of my life and helped me see Paris from a new vantage point, the same way Amelie did in 2001.

Like a collection of short stories, 18 different directors filmed one piece about love in and with Paris. Each story takes place in a different neighborhood of the city. If one short doesn't speak to you, hang on for 6 minutes or so and it's over and then you are on to the next. It works almost like looking into doll house windows to see moments of love simultaneously happening throughout the city.

Here's the trailer:



If you can't make it to the theater, here are links to a few of the stories in their entirety. Thanks YouTube. Wes Craven, of all people, has one of the sweetest stories, but I couldn't find a link to it.

Here are 3 of the 18.
1. Alexander Payne's 14th Arrondissement. I love this one. Her French sounds about like mine.
2. Tom Tykwer's Faubourg Saint-Denis.
3. Gurinder Chadha's (sorry, no English sub-titles) Quais de Seine.

PS: The beautiful song in the trailer available in French (La Meme Histoire) or English (We're All In the Dance) is from Feist.

Seaworthy Living

About once every 6 months or so, our 1300 square foot stone cottage starts to swell. You can almost see the house's pulse from the street. I re-arrange and re-organize and purge clutter and try to set up new play areas for my daughter's toys, the dog's toys, the cat's neuroses, my husband's books and my bags. And then, I start feeling antsy under the pressure, and before I know it, I'm wandering over to the local Realtor website of area listings.

Of the thousands of listings, there is usually only one that peaks my interest and then I obsess about it, decide that ultimately it won't work for some reason or another, and then re-commit to the cottage, promising to be a better resident, devoted to finding new creative solutions to the challenges of a small space. I have always dreamed of living at sea, and this is a nice trial run at togetherness. We just need those nautical cabinets in the house with latches to secure everything and clean off the surfaces.

A year ago, we found the perfect house for us and it sold within 5 hours of going on the market. But in retrospect, we were secretly relieved that it sold so fast, because if it hadn't, and we were actually confronted with all of that space, it would have been a difficult decision.

For all of the challenges of a small house, I am comforted that no one is ever alone in the cottage, that one load of laundry can make the entire house smell like clean cotton, that cooking in our kitchen is always done elbow to elbow. You can't stay mad at anyone in the cottage because, like being on a boat, there's just not space to walk away. Music is shared. Dancing is encouraged. Cuddles are sometimes accidental. But it's home.

I just have to remind myself, each time I feel an impluse to take on more of a mortgage, how wonderful it is to have a cozy English cottage that we can fill up with books and tea and brio trains.

Target, Boys & Interpretive Dance

Boys are a foreign language to me. My parents had three girls. I have a daughter. My husband, on the other hand, came from a family of three boys with lots of boy cousins, uncles, etc., so he is more versed in this arena.

While looking to buy some of the catchy music that has been featured in Target ads lately like Jamie Liddell and others, (this is the genius advertising firm creating these gems ), I stumbled upon this video take-off of the commercial by two 16-year-old boys.



Maybe this is nothing new for those of you who have boys, but the thought of these boys choreographing this makes my day and makes me wonder what it would have been like to have grown up with brothers. My sisters and I did goofy stuff like this all the time. I had no idea that boys do too.

I love that although the desk where the web cam sits is shaking, and it's out of focus, they were still proud enough of their work to post it on the Internet. I love that they both pop up at the end at the same time. My daughter and I can't help but dance along with them. It just never gets old.